


take flight

by astrume



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Airports, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Growing Up, Homesickness, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, POV: you're me throwing random scenarios together, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28478133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrume/pseuds/astrume
Summary: “We’re finished, Oikawa.” He stretches his hand out towards the sky and with childish impulse, grabs at the moon. “We’ve graduated. No more highschool.”A non-linear exploration of Iwaizumi and Oikawa's relationship (ft. the woes of being in love with your best friend, moving apart and coming back to each other.)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	take flight

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! happy new year :)  
> starting the year off with some iwaoi because i was feeling emo about them  
> enjoy :D
> 
> (minor spoiler for where Oikawa goes after highschool)

_i._

He’s at the airport, heart heavy with a sensation he can’t name. Oikawa stands opposite him, carry-on bag by his side and a smile on his face that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. The thrum of the airport is a dull noise in the background and everything is just so  _ ordinary _ Hajime almost feels annoyed. The weather’s sunny and there’s no storm, no rain, nothing to suggest that there’s a hurricane in his chest that swirls larger with every passing second.

“I’m going to miss you, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa says softly, eyes gentle under the fluorescent lights. His hands are curled tightly into fists, nimble fingers digging into his palm. Setter fingers. The same fingers that have set ball after ball, pushing them to where Hajime’s palm strikes them down. It’s the fingers Hajime have taken into his grasp and traced every line until they’ve been seared into his head. The fingers that take Oikawa Tooru further and further until he’s a gleaming star in the sky — out of reach from a mere mortal like Hajime.

“Don’t get all emotional on me,” Hajime warns, voice gruff. It’s a pretense though, but Oikawa humours him, whining that he’s not getting emotional. They both ignore the way Hajime’s voice tightens and how Oikawa can’t seem to stop blinking moisture out of his eyes. Oikawa’s eyes search his and for a split second, his facade drops; the smile drops and his face crumples. It’s only a second but Hajime’s heart cracks in its cage, the storm rises and it howls and brings no mercy. 

“Come here, Tooru.” 

Oikawa has never known self-restraint and he’s in Hajime’s arms before he’s even finished talking. Arms clutch desperately at him and all Hajime can do is hold the setter close. They must make a pair, two teenagers on the cusp of adulthood, embracing in an airport like it’s the last time they’ll see each other.

It might be though, Hajime muses, arms around Oikawa with the setter's head buried in his chest. This is where they part for the next few years. 

_ii._

When he confesses, it’s nothing like how Hajime would have pictured it. Oikawa does it without any of the bravado he usually carries, without any of the glamour, without any of the charm that wraps girls around his fingers. Instead, it’s hellfire; Hajime shouts at his best friend and he knows he’s being cruel. Hajime’s not dumb and Oikawa’s not subtle — he knows the setter, his setter, has a crush on him. 

“You’re in love with me.” 

The statement rings out in the air between them and Hajime watches as all the fight drains out of Oikawa. His shoulders fall and they begin to shake, eyes darting away from where Hajime stares at him. It’s a statement that is merciless, there’s no lilt at the end that poses it as a question. Oikawa is in love with Hajime.

Oikawa’s tongue comes out and runs over his dry lips, before he raises his head and looks, almost defiantly, at Hajime. “I am.” He says, voice steady despite the tremor that Hajime can pick up underlying the words. “And I’m not sorry about it,” Oikawa continues. “I don’t know how you figured it out but yeah, maybe I am in love with you.” He falls silent and the spiker watches as Oikawa’s hands clench uselessly by his side. 

His hand comes to rest on his forehead and Hajime glances up at the starless sky, exhaling loudly in the evening air. “You can’t plan your future around me, Oikawa.” He says gruffly. That’s the crux of it really — Hajime does not want to be the reason Oikawa refuses to follow his dreams. It’s been the reason behind their fights this year, the reason they tense when someone brings up what comes next after highschool and the reason why they’re standing here now. Oikawa’s eyes shine wetly and Hajime can feel a lump in his throat, but this isn’t about him right now. It’s about making sure Oikawa won’t do something he regrets. 

“You’re going to San Juan.” There’s a noise of protest from Oikawa and Hajime looks at him, glaring fiercely until Oikawa bites his lips, cowed. He continues, “You’re going to San Juan and you’re going to become an even better setter than you are now. You don’t need me for this.” Oikawa’s eyes glitter harder with tears and another sigh escapes Hajime’s lips. He’s not heartless, and seeing his best friend standing there, defenceless and open, stirs something in his chest.

Feet moving soundlessly against the grass, he steps forward until there’s nearly no space between him and Oikawa. A calloused hand rises and he places it gently against Oikawa’s cheek. 

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, soft and hesitant. It’s a stark difference from mere minutes ago, where Oikawa had spit out his name in anger. 

Hajime shushes him and uses his thumb to wipe away a tear that trickles down Oikawa’s cheek. “I know you love me, but you need to do this without me. Accept the offer, Oikawa. Go to San Juan and carve out your own path, without me.” 

There’s a shuddering breath from Oikawa and Hajime feels the slightest of nods from him. He brings his other hand up and cups Oikawa’s face between his palms. Brown eyes peek at him in apprehension and Hajime feels the last of the tension bleed out from him and allows a lopsided smile to grow on his face.

“You can do it, Shittykawa. And,” he pauses, tilting Oikawa’s face down to place a tender kiss on the crown of his head. “I love you, too.”

_ iii. _

It’s lonely by himself, Tooru muses. His days are filled with a homesickness that food from the local Japanese store can’t fix. It’s a homesickness he shoves deep down inside him so that he won’t collapse from the sheer pain of missing something to come home to. 

He wishes Iwaizumi were here. 

_ iv. _

Moonlight clings to their skin, a pale sheen of white that heralds the coming of night. Hajime lies splayed out on the ground, grass tickling the back of his neck and his bare feet freezing in the night. Beside him is Oikawa, the setter all loose-limbed with a sheen of sweat from the wrestling match they had had moments ago. His breath fogs and forms wisps of white in the still air. Like this, with time suspended between them, Hajime can almost pretend this is any other night. As much as he hopes it to be, it’s a pretense that will fall away with the rise of the sun. It will fall away with the sun and Oikawa will board a plane to a country far away — their skies will be different and their nights will no longer align.

“Some big thoughts going on over there, Iwa-chan. Don’t strain yourself.” Oikawa’s teasing lilt cuts through the silence. He wields his words like he always does, with a sort of flippancy and humour that belies what he really wants to say. Hajime feels the keen, piercing eyes of his best friend on the side of his head and lets out a quiet huff. Rolling onto his side, he finds the brown of Oikawa’s eyes that seem to contain all the determination from across every galaxy. Their hands are held loosely together and Hajime gently extracts his fingers from the other boy’s grasp.

“We’re finished, Oikawa.” He stretches his hand out towards the sky and with childish impulse, grabs at the moon. “We’ve graduated. No more highschool.” His voice trails off and the truth of his words sinks in. There’s going to be no more Seijoh volleyball matches, no more girls interrupting them every ten minutes to ask Oikawa something. No more spiking one of Oikawa’s tosses to victory. No more screaming at Oikawa in an empty gym to tell him to take care of himself and that he’s good enough. 

“And  _ I’m  _ the dramatic one.” Oikawa replies, voice steady and held together from years of experience with shoving pain down. Hajime scowls at him and pointedly raises his eyebrows, knowing they’re both thinking of the same thing. The afternoons pouring over college brochures and the knowledge that this next point in their lives is going to be without each other. Oikawa crying his eyes out and pretending he isn’t thinking of changing his plans to fit with Hajime. “We can still come home,” Oikawa says helpfully and Hajime resists the urge to rib Oikawa. It’s the same thing he’s been telling Oikawa for the past few weeks. Miyagi will always be there for them.

“You are the most dramatic person I know. Maybe you should consider acting.” Hajime voices flatly. Oikawa lets out a petulant whine and blows in Hajime’s face, their close proximity meaning Hajime can practically taste the mint gum Oikawa insists is a must. “But I love you for it.”

Oikawa can face all of his female fans without a single hint of shame but any sweet words Hajime directs toward him is met with reddening cheeks. In the silvery glow, Hajime watches as Oikawa’s eyes shine and he makes a few pathetic spluttering noises. Hajime’s lips twitch and it’s Oikawa’s turn to scowl and attempt to push him away. Instead, Hajime pushes himself up and braces his arms on either side of Oikawa, hovering over him. 

Cheeks practically glowing, Hajime is reminded just how vulnerable Oikawa allows Hajime to see him and he’s hit with overwhelming affection. 

He lowers his face gently, slowly, with all the care one must give Oikawa Tooru, and presses his lips softly to the corner of pink lips. Hajime feels the shiver that runs through the setter as he lets out a pleased noise. Under the moonlight, Oikawa looks ethereal. But he also looks so small. The two of them, fragments of stardust in a corner of the universe. Drawn to each other through sheer force of will and intertwined by strings of fate woven in the air. Hajime brushes his lips across Oikawa’s face and leisurely makes his way to the expanse of neck that’s exposed. He feels the rise of goosebumps as Oikawa starts to squirm because his neck has always been too sensitive. He’s so fucking cute.

There’s a gentle tug on his shirt and Hajime doesn’t need to look to know that Oikawa’s got a hand gripping his shirt, fingers trembling and eyes squeezed shut against Hajime’s ministrations. He’s angelic like this, all shy and blushing and a stark contrast from the captain on court. Here in this liminal space, Oikawa is quiet and trusting and the pressure he carries on his shoulders falls away. The kisses Hajime place carry a weight, a promise, of coming home. It’s a reminder that what they have is written in every particle of the Earth and just as the sun turns, Hajime and Oikawa will find their way back to each other. Even if it takes a couple of years.

_v._

The phone line clicks dead and Tooru stares blankly at his screen. He hung up. Iwaizumi hung up on him. Where had it gone wrong? They were fine, talking about their days until one of them had brought up social media. And then, Tooru thinks to himself, the topic of new people and new friends had come up and things spiralled. 

Which leaves him here. Ear still ringing and throat hoarse after screaming back at Iwaizumi. Now that he’s not on the phone call, the silence of his San Juan apartment weighs heavy on him. His brain feels like it’s lagging and there’s a rising emptiness in him that creeps through his bones. 

It’s fine, right? It’ll be fine. Iwaizumi will call back. They never end calls like this. Iwaizumi  _ has _ to call back. 

(He doesn’t. Tooru doesn’t sleep that week.)

_vi._

He hates airports. Every time Tooru is at an airport, he’s leaving something behind. The airport, with its gleaming white walls and sterile scent, has become synonymous with an ache in his heart and he absolutely despises it. 

But maybe, this time isn’t too bad.

After all, there’s a man with stupidly spiky hair standing there, looking expectantly at him. Tooru’s heart beats an irregular rhythm in his chest and the hand that grips his luggage feels clammy. Iwaizumi has always been handsome and Tooru knows this, he does, but for some godforsaken reason, he looks utterly  _ godly _ . For fucks sake, his boyfriend isn’t even dressed up. Tooru eyes the white sweater hugging Iwaizumi’s broad chest and decides  _ screw his reputation _ and hurtles toward the other man. 

His suitcase crashes along haphazardly beside him and Tooru should feel shame at the judging side-eyes at him from other passengers but all he can focus on is Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi who looks like he’s in pain with fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, before his hand falls, a grin rises, and he starts jogging toward Tooru.

They meet halfway. 

Limbs colliding with a ferocity that looked like it belonged to teenagers, rather than two young men, Tooru eventually fists his hands into the front of his boyfriend’s sweater. He takes a moment to just  _ look _ at Iwaizumi. At brown eyes that have always seen right through him, at a mouth that’s never failed to berate him for stupid antics. The lips that have traced every inch of his body in a manner too soft and kind for someone like Tooru. He looks at Iwaizumi and feels his heart swell and croon in the cavity of his chest.

“I’ve missed you.”

It’s simple — it’s nothing dramatic and exaggerated like anything Tooru usually says. But it’s the truth and Iwaizumi’s eyes turn gentle as a small smile rises onto his face. Steady hands cup Tooru’s head and as Iwaizumi ducks in, Tooru feels the tender press of lips to his cheek. He shivers, and then, the faintest of breaths against his ear. Words from Iwaizumi to Tooru and Tooru only. Words that drench him in a warmth that neither a San Juan nor Brazilian sun could bring. 

“Welcome home, Tooru.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> tbh this was written over the course of a very long time so please excuse the fact that it doesn't flow properly. but yes that's also why I made it non-linear narrative. write smarter not harder :") (also i don't believe in the rules of grammar sorry)
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated <3


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